


but to me you're a dream, a divine mystery

by janie_tangerine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - The Vampire Diaries Fusion, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Bottom Jaime Lannister, Bronn Being Bronn, Dom/sub, Dysfunctional Relationships, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Jaime x Brienne Week 2020, Oral Sex, Past Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Pegging, Road Trips, Rope Bondage, Top Brienne of Tarth, Vampires, Woman on Top, or maybe enemies to friends with benefits to lovers, questionable use of dolly parton metaphors, that actually turn out pretty functional who'd have known
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:53:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26895517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: “Jesus,” she says, “I’m too drunk for this to make sense.”“But it does, doesn’t it?”“And what does your brother say about your fondness for Dolly’s childhood home?”“That my music tastes are abysmal,” he replies, but then he’s looking straight at her, green eyes staring into hers and they look like they’re glowing, and —And he’s not grinning anymore.Fucking —Fucking hell, Brienne thinks, I really must be drunk, and then she takes a step forward and he does too and she doesn’t know how they’re kissing like two people starved for it right in the middle of the bar, but —“Well,” he says, “I was hoping you’d fuck me at some point, when we left.”She didn’t hear it wrong.She should tell him no.She should.“Let’s get back to the damned hotel,” she says, and he’s grinning again, and —She just hopes she’s not too drunk for whatever else is coming.In which vampire hunter Brienne Tarth teams up with vampire Jaime Lannister to get his sister. It becomes way more than just a team-up very soon.
Relationships: Bronn/Tyrion Lannister, Jaime Lannister & Tyrion Lannister, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 19
Kudos: 130
Collections: Jaime x Brienne Week 2020





	but to me you're a dream, a divine mystery

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TotemundTabu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotemundTabu/gifts).



> AAAAND for the third and last jbweek fic I didn't manage to post... this was supposed to be for day seven, _lust_ , and you can 100% blame it all on ao3 user totemundtabu who has pretty much thrown the OH BUT YOU SHOULD DO THE VAMPIRE DIARIES AU WHERE THEY'RE DAMON AND ALARIC idea at me months ago and... well. I HAD TO. I'M DELIVERING. IDEK. for recast purposes: this is veeery loosely based on the early tvd seasons with jb being respectively damon and alaric, tyrion and bronn being stefan and elena (I MEAN WHY NOT) and cersei being katherine sort of with the necessary tweaks to the background and all. if you have never seen tvd: don't worry, you just have to know that for these vampires' purposes vervaine is something that hurts them, vampires can compel people to do what they want but it can be avoided using a ring that prevents it or drinking vervaine first and the two dysfunctional bros live in a boarding house in a small town in Virginia. the end X°D FOR THE REST THIS IS BASICALLY AN EXCUSE FOR PORN SO JUST GO WITH IT. also sorry not sorry for the really questionable dolly parton metaphors. /o\ aaaand I'm done throwing out late stuff thank you everyone I'll saunter back downwards now /o\

1.

“I never said you could sit here,” Brienne says the moment she _feels_ the presence taking the spot next to her.

“But it’s a free world and we should celebrate our _extremely_ well-earned victory!”

She rolls her eyes.

She _won’t_ look at him. She won’t —

“Come on,” he goes on, “we were a pretty good team out there, weren’t we? I dare say… we were _badass_ , weren’t we?”

She huffs, knocks back her whiskey and gives in, turning to her right to look at fucking Jaime Lannister and at his shit-eating grin and unnaturally blonde golden hair and sparkling, too-bright green eyes.

Fuck.

 _Fuck_ , she wishes he had just… fucked off and let her be. Why is he even talking to her? She tried to kill him first thing after arriving in this shithole of a town, and okay, it would have been wrong of her to, he kept on fucking _pestering_ her for… she doesn’t even know _why_ he does, he’s insufferable, and if she had to deal with _one_ vampire in this shitty town that she doesn’t want to kill she’d have picked his brother, and yet.

And yet.

“Maybe so,” she concedes.

He grins harder.

She’d ignore it, if she hadn’t seen him pull that exact grin on every single other person he knows in here (or that _they_ both know) and each single other time it was obviously fake unless it was with his brother.

The fact that a goddamned vampire she arrived here to stake, who smiles at everyone like he wants to kill them is actually looking at her like… he actually _doesn’t_ want to kill her, is just throwing her in for a goddamned loop.

Christ, she _never_ signed up for this.

“I never said I wanted to do it _again_ ,” she sighs, taking another sip of the new shot the bartender just poured her.

“But it was _fun_ ,” Lannister almost fucking purrs, moving closer to her, that red leather jacket fitting even _too_ well on him for her tastes.

She wishes he wasn’t _that_ fucking attractive.

It wouldn’t be so distracting, otherwise.

“Since when killing vampires is _fun_ now?”

“Oh, you just _know_ it is,” he grins, and moves _closer_ — “And I know what you’re really here for. I think you should consider helping me out.”

“I don’t think we want the same head,” she says, but — but the way he’s looking at her, it’s not — it’s not that shit-eating grin, now.

It’s serious.

“Oh,” he says, “we _absolutely_ want the same head. You just had to ask, wench.”

“ _Wench_? Seriously?”

“That’s how girls with some spirit were called in my day and age,” he winks again, and —

Brienne really should tell him to can it.

If he just hadn’t told her that _he wants his own sister dead_.

2.

“This,” she says two days later, sitting on the luxurious couch in the Lannister boarding house, knocking out another drink and staring at Lannister as he pours himself more bourbon and leans on the dresser in front of her, “is _not_ going to work if you don’t tell me _why_ we want the same head.”

He rolls his eyes, knocks back the drink. “Why,” he shrugs, “hasn’t my brother vouched for the genuine-ness of my actions?”

“Your brother,” Brienne sighs, “looked at me, told me that you have exceedingly good reasons to kill her but he swore… when, _one half and a century ago_ , that he wouldn’t _get in between your business_ even if he’d be very glad to tear it off her neck himself, except that he’ll leave that to _you_ because you apparently have dibs on that and he’s too busy trying out extreme sex positions with Bronn Blackwater to worry about his sister. So if I wanted to know anything more I should ask _you_.” She pauses, swallows another shot, knocks it back. “Listen,” she sighs, “she turned — my mentor. _After_ killing her entire family in front of her. To the point that she went mad with grief and _I_ had to kill her. She was — the only person I ever met who ever didn’t treat me like a goddamned freak of nature _and_ who never tried to fuck me over at any point in my life. I knew nothing about vampires then _and_ I learned just… for _that_ , and again, sorry for — well. Assuming you had a part in it. Figured, since she’s your sister. You want to help me kill her, _fine_. I’ll concede that when we had to off those two lackeys of hers a few days ago we worked well together. But I can’t trust you until you tell me _why_ you want her dead. You get it, don’t you?”

He nods once, his face suddenly turning serious. He breathes in, out. Then —

“I loved her,” he says. “Or better, I never knew any better. It was — everything she’d tell me growing up in that damned plantation. I don’t remember _one_ time I thought she wasn’t my other half. Our father never realized that we — that we had each other for the first time in one of the fields behind the house. I already hated being there and I hated that she treated Tyrion like shit, but I didn’t quite know it. I still thought I loved her and I couldn’t stand it when our father said she should get married to the son of the… well, almost richer neighbor, but that guy was some kind of British nobility, so… she’d marry into the name or something like that. I thought she’d say no because we were meant to be. She married him. I enlisted to spite my damned father who hated my brother and would have been forced to have _him_ help out in the goddamned place, and good riddance to it because I hated it. Then I realized that I didn’t want to fight that war either, but it was… well. I couldn’t just run off, could I?” He shakes his head, pours himself more bourbon. “So, I go back home. Turns out that Cersei married a fucking vampire and decided that she _loved_ it. She said I should turn with her so we’d really be together forever, it’s not like her husband cared either way beyond… that. I didn’t really want to even if it sounded convincing. Then she threatened to turn _Tyrion_ too if I didn’t accept, and at that point — I did.” He stops. “She turned us both. Because Tyrion would have hated it. And then it turned out that her main target was actually killing our father because _he sold her off like cattle_ , but turning us both and have him _know it_ would have made him madder before he died. And then she fucked off to New Orleans and left us there. Tyrion blamed _me_ for that for years. I can’t blame him for blaming me. She never showed up again until now. I never wanted _this_ ,” he spits out, “she obviously never wanted _me_ , she’s going around killing innocent people for fun and she’s not laying low anymore and I don’t know what she wants from him. Except I want her dead. Does that satisfy you, wench?”

It does. It _has_ to — no one who didn’t _mean_ that would have sounded that mad about it. He was trying not to. But he _was_ mad.

That’s good enough for her.

“Yes,” she says. “Plenty enough. Do you think they were lying? The —”

“What, the Kettleback brothers? Couldn’t lie to save their hide. They’ve been her lackeys for _years_. I’ve known them for longer. No, she’s in New Orleans.”

“Right. Tomorrow morning, seven AM, in front of my house. If you’re not there I’m leaving on my own. No fashionably late Lannister antics.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, and now… why the _fuck_ is he smiling again? “My dear wench, I think this is the start —”

“If you say _of a beautiful friendship_ —”

“Hey, I was around when that movie was released. Had a grand time there. _A beautiful friendship_ , wench.”

“Fuck you,” she says, but there’s no bite to it.

He mutters something under his breath.

Brienne will _not_ presume that he said _if only_.

No way she hasn’t misheard.

He couldn’t have said _that_.

3.

“ _Please_ ,” he says as he slides into the passenger seat, “tell me you’re _not_ taking the long way down.”

“… What?”

“See, my dear wench,” Jaime says, looking too satisfied for his own good, “you have two choices. Either you go the _boring_ way and pass through the Carolinas, _or_ you take the _short_ way and cut through Tennessee and it’s just two States until Louisiana instead of, uh, _four_.”

“And I should not take the boring way to save gas only or for what?”

“Because we can stop in Nashville,” he winks.

“We can _stop in Nashville_ ,” she repeats, turning on the engine. “What, vampires are into country music now?”

“Is there a reason why we _shouldn’t_ be?”

She should take the long way around just to spite him.

She finds herself taking the turn towards Tennessee instead, and the fact that she doesn’t feel like killing him right _there_ when he starts singing _Jolene_ at the top of his lungs should probably worry her.

Fucking hell.

Vampires into country music.

 _Why_ is this her life, she wishes she knew.

4.

“Told you we should have taken the shortcut,” he grins, still looking way too satisfied with himself.

“Shut the fuck up,” she replies without bite.

Admittedly, it’s good alcohol, and the music isn’t bad. It’s the fourth bar they’ve been at this evening. All of them had good alcohol and good music. He apparently _was a connoisseur_

She can believe _that_.

“You’re enjoying the _hell_ out of this.” He’s still grinning. He looks very satisfied with himself.

God, _why_ is he doing this?

“Fine,” she says, “the drinks are good and the music is good. I see you’ve spent more time here than I’d have assumed. Do you also go to Dolly’s theme park when you’re bored?”

“I’ve been to Dolly’s park _countless_ times when I was bored.”

“Are you serious,” she blurts.

“Sure. Couldn’t get enough of Dolly’s Tennessee Mountain Home,” he deadpans, and fuck, he’s —

“Oh shit. You’re serious. I need another drink,” she says, handing the barman her glass for a refill.

“See,” he says, “this is very bad of you, wench. For someone who obviously doesn’t give a flying fuck about gender roles and so on, assuming _I_ wouldn’t enjoy Dolly’s Tennessee Mountain Home is fairly small-minded, isn’t it?”

Brienne, who doesn’t have a single stack in country music and only barely has a clue of what he’s talking about and who’s also drunk, tries to remember _anything_ about fucking Dolly Parton’s childhood — she _did_ have one single friend in high school who was… well. Into Dolly Parton, somewhat. What did always Melara say, that she was such a role model because she gave so much money for good causes when —

“Wait,” she says, “didn’t her house, like, not have electricity or running water?”

“Of course it _didn’t_ ,” he goes on.

“And wasn’t it, like, some ten people in a _cabin_?”

“That was the _first_ Tennessee home. Still, still it didn’t have electricity or running water either.”

“And how would _you_ enjoy that now?”

“Didn’t you hear the song?”

“Sorry, can’t remember it right now.”

“The concept,” he grins again, even if it falls a bit, “is that even if the house was small without electricity, it was ten people overcrowding it, they were dirt poor and her father couldn’t even read, _they loved each other,_ wench. Come on, I thought you got _that_ gist.”

Brienne stops with the glass halfway to her mouth.

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Fucking —

“Jesus,” she says, “I’m too drunk for this to make sense.”

“But it _does_ , doesn’t it?”

“And what does your brother say about your fondness for Dolly’s childhood home?”

“That my music tastes are abysmal,” he replies, but then he’s looking straight at her, green eyes staring into hers and they look like they’re glowing, and —

And he’s not grinning anymore.

Fucking —

Fucking _hell_ , Brienne thinks, _I really must be drunk_ , and then she takes a step forward and he does too and she doesn’t know how they’re kissing like two people starved for it right in the middle of the bar, but —

“Well,” he says, “I _was_ hoping you’d fuck me at some point, when we left.”

She didn’t hear it wrong.

She should tell him _no_.

She _should_.

“Let’s get back to the damned hotel,” she says, and he’s grinning _again_ , and —

She just hopes she’s not too drunk for whatever else is coming.

She _really_ hopes that.

5.

Turns out: she wasn’t too drunk to slam him against the bed and sink on him after pushing his head in between her legs with a clear warning that if he tried to bite she’d snap his neck at once.

He has grinned and said of course and —

He hadn’t bitten her.

He also had been very, _very_ thorough, and by the time her legs couldn’t hold themselves straight anymore he had made her come thrice, swallowing down every time she peaked on his damned face, looking like he was enjoying every single moment, and —

And then she had just slammed him against the bed, wrists against the mattress, sinking down on his cock, and _fuck_ she — well, she had fooled around with a few people but never went _that_ far and she barely has an idea of what she’s doing here because it’s not like the few assholes who she stopped fooling with because they asked her out on _bets_ in high school were down with the idea of her riding them —

Except Jaime _is_ , and he’s moaning and saying _yes fuck I knew you were just right_ as she moves her hips and clenches around his dick, and she should ask him what the hell he means but —

But she’s honestly beyond thinking about anything that’s not getting him to come inside her while keeping his wrists pressed to the bed, and so she doesn’t, and when she’s lying down next to him wondering what the fuck got into her, he grins and says, _I think we should do this again._

She doesn’t say no.

6.

Three days later, they’re in a motel on the Arkansas border and he drops in her hands a bag from some sex toys shop… in Nashville.

“Did you buy whatever _this_ is when we were there and you said you needed a half hour to _deal with business_?” She asks, knowing she’s nowhere near drunk enough for this. They fucked again, sure, all three days, and it was… it was _good_ , and he always moaned harder than the time before every time she rode him, but — she had no idea —

“I had a hunch,” he says, “that we’d be a match. And I’ve wanted you to get on top of me and wreck me since the moment I looked at you.”

 _He can’t be fucking serious_.

“You didn’t.”

“Oh, I _did_. I’ve been around a century or so, wench. I _did_ learn my tastes, in my sister’s absence. I just wanted to make sure we were a match.”

Brienne, against all fucking sense, opens the bag.

There’s a harness with a black strap-on dildo that certainly doesn’t look like it’s _for beginners_ , a gag, a couple of fuzzy pink handcuffs — _fuck, why_ —, lube, a goddamned _pink vibrating plug_ and some silky red rope.

“You — you _mean_ this,” she blurts.

“Oh, if they’re a success, I think I have more in mind.”

“Are you — are you suggesting we should be friends with benefits now and that it should include me using all of these on you?”

“We do have another five days or so before we get to New Orleans at this rate, don’t we?” He grins again.

Fuck him.

Really, _fuck him_.

… Well.

Isn’t that the goddamned point, Brienne thinks, and then decides that what the hell, why not? She obviously doesn’t hate him at this point. He seems to like her. The sex was good. They do have five days until they get to New Orleans.

Might as well go for it.

7.

“Fuck, _yes_ ,” he moans as she fucks into him not long later, his hands tied to the headboard, the dildo sliding in and out of his ass like it’s _that_ _easy_ for him to take it and fun thing, she lubed it up but didn’t try to slide in anything larger than her finger before, and he _did_ , and he moans shamelessly every time she thrusts inside him, and — fuck. She’s never done this before, but fucking _hell_ she wants to do it again and again now, and if they survive New Orleans, well — maybe she’d like to keep on doing it, _with him_ , even if she knows it’s a very, very dangerous road to thread on.

It doesn’t matter right _now_ , not when she’s sliding into him so easily and he’s screaming her name, not _wench_ , her name, and then moans harder when she tugs on his hair, and when he bares a bit of fangs as she does and doesn’t even try to bite as his dick leaks pre-come on her stomach, and when all her blood is rushing downstairs in the _best_ way, and fucking hell, she could come just from this, _couldn’t_ she, and —

 _Fuck_ , maybe —

She fucks into him harder, and while she’s not a great talker and so she tends to keep her mouth shut in such occasions, when a _this is so good_ falls from her lips he arches some more, moaning so loud she’s pretty sure the kid manning the motel heard him, and —

Fucking hell, what if —

“You’re — taking this so well,” she says, not knowing where it’s coming from —

He _screams_ as he comes against her stomach, and then she pulls out, throws the strap on the ground and shoves his face in the middle of her legs, and _fuck_ when he immediately starts sucking at her clit, his tongue running along the folds and drinking as if his life depended on it, she screams almost as hard as she comes against his tongue.

He doesn’t move his head as her hands run through his hair.

Fuck.

 _Fuck._ She’s pretty sure this friends with benefits thing isn’t going to hold on as it is for much longer, but hey.

It’s five days until they get to New Orleans.

They _can_ manage it until then, she thinks as she keeps on running her hands through his hair and his tongue keeps on licking her clean.

Surely they _can_.

8.

“Say that again,” he gasps as he tugs on the ropes she tied to the headboard the day before they’re supposed to drive into New Orleans.

“What,” she blurts, thrusting into him harder, her hands pressing down into his shoulder as he arches his neck upward, and fuck she wishes she had actually taken him from the front because she’d like a good look at his face right now, “out of the last _ten_ things — I just — said?”

“Wench, you — you’re everything a guy could have hoped for, you —”

“ _What_ thing?”

“The _last_ one, fuck, _please_ —”

“What,” she blurts, “that maybe I should leave you tied there looking all nice for me while I go look for your sister and deal with her for the both of us?”

Which — she hadn’t _meant_ to say it, she hadn’t, it slipped out of her mouth the moment he screamed about telling him more of what she felt like doing with him, but it apparently hit home _somehow_ because he screams again and says that _yes_ that was what he wanted, and wouldn’t she please go _on_ about that, and —

“Maybe I should,” she says, blood flowing from her head down down _down_ , fuck she feels so lightheaded she could faint, “and then I’d come back with a souvenir for you and you’d be so grateful you’d let me fuck you all night long?”

“ _Yes_ ,” he screams again, and he tugs on the ropes so hard they break off.

Right _then_ , she can’t bring herself to care as she thrusts in deep one last time and moves over so she can sit on his face, and fuck but the way he buries his head against her clit, the way his hands are grasping at her legs —

Fuck.

 _Fuck_.

“Jaime,” she says later, as they’re lying next to each other, “just — not to be _that_ person, but I think this is beyond friends with benefits, and I’m saying this as — well. I’m pretty sure I’m _your_ only friend, so. Could you… just tell me _what_ is this?”

He says nothing for a long while.

“You mind if we have that conversation tomorrow? Or. Well. _After_?”

She supposes there’s nothing wrong with _that_.

She can not know for another day. Or however long it takes them to find Cersei.

“Fine,” she says. “If we both survive, though, you’re telling me.”

“Deal,” he grins, because she can _hear_ it.

Damn it.

She hates that she’s grinning back, but not so much she’ll put any effort in trying to stop.

9.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” she had told him while they were planning.

“I think it’s a splendid idea. She _would_ fall for it.”

“Jaime,” she had objected, “Volunteering as bait is fucking bad enough, doing it _in public_ would be even worse and —”

He had batted a hand. “Brienne, I can just compel everyone to leave.”

“It’s _Jackson Square_ , Jaime.”

“And so? She lives in one of those houses right facing it and we all know that, she’s never going to come out without good reason. I’ll compel everyone to leave.”

“I still think this is a goddamned terrible idea.”

“That’s why _you_ are my sensible backup, aren’t you?”

Brienne had agreed, very reluctantly, _knowing_ it was a bad idea.

Right _now_ , she can’t even gloat when it comes to being right, because _of course_ Cersei has been in the game of being a vampire who actually _wants to kill people because it’s fun_ since the beginning and therefore is fairly more powerful than _he_ is, and he overestimated himself, of course he did, and now she’s desperately trying to not get herself noticed as she tries to not move from her _for now_ carefully hidden position behind Jackson’s monument, and if Cersei even moves two feet from where she is she’ll notice her.

Good thing she’s not right now… since she’s holding Jaime by the neck with nails digging into his throat.

Fuck.

Either Brienne gets her in the back at the first try or this is going to end _badly_ , and no anti-compulsion ring will do the trick, not with how fucking powerful she is.

( _then again, hadn’t she killed all of the Starks in less than ten minutes?_ )

“I see,” Cersei says, “you still haven’t grasped that if we don’t die together then you die _when_ I say it.”

What the — Brienne’s stomach curls on itself as she hears the way she says it.

That was —

Well.

Possessive _might_ cover it, but.

But that’s how you talk about some _thing_ you own, not some _one_.

She wraps her hand around the stake harder.

“I guess,” he wheezes, “that I underestimated you again, but I’m sure as fuck not dying _with_ you at this point. Good.”

“ _Good_?”

“I’ve had a century to know I can live without you,” he says, and then she bares her fangs —

Brienne dashes out of her hiding spot and drives the stake _down_ , hoping that it tears through the heart at the first try otherwise this is going to end _badly_ —

Cersei _screams_ as she falls to her knees, her skin rapidly going grey, letting Jaime go and turning to look at Brienne right as her cold green eyes turn colder and _colder_ , and she opens her mouth and only gets out a _who_ —

“Catelyn Tully sends her regards,” Brienne says coldly as her body crumbles into dust.

Her hand feels cold as ice as the dust flies into the wind and suddenly people around them start _moving_ again, looking dazed.

Of course they do.

Jaime’s throat is reddened as he stares up at her, of course he’s not breathing, he doesn’t _have_ to.

“Knew you’d have my back,” he grins weakly.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” she says, “and you have zero sense of self-preservation, you know that?”

“Always did. Maybe I need _my only friend_ to make sure I don’t self-destruct now, don’t I?”

Suddenly, as he stares up at her with those bright, _bright_ green eyes, she thinks she gets it.

“Was — was _that_ — oh,” she says, her voice dropping. “You don’t mean that.”

“Oh,” he says, moving closer, “I think I quite do. And that house my sister owns right _here_? I know for sure she’d never slouch.”

“You want to go — you want us to have a celebratory fuck in your sister’s bed,” she repeats, wishing she was surprised. She’s _not_. And fuck, why isn’t she _mad_ about it?

Maybe because she does know him a bit, by now.

“I want you to _take me apart_ in my sister’s bed knowing she’d hate it,” he grins back, his lips moving closer to hers. “And I think I like you, Tarth. I think I _really_ like you. I don’t think it’s just benefits. And I’m tired of — of centuries of drifting in and out on my own. I always thought belonging to someone could be quite beautiful, if it was the right someone. She wasn’t. I think _you_ are.”

“I think you’re running a bit too much,” she says, her hands moving under his shirt, pulling him closer, “but it seems like I can’t just stay the fuck away from you now, can I?”

“Oh,” he grins, “that’s what I like to hear. So,” he moves closer, “my _wench_ , will you pretty please fuck me like your life depended on it on that surely beautiful bed in that luxurious mansion in this fair town before we take our sweet time coming back home?”

He bats his damned eyelids.

“I think I can be persuaded,” she relents, and then she kisses him right in the middle of the damned square and when his fangs bite down a bit on her lower lip she says nothing and lets him —

He pulls back.

“You weren’t on vervain,” he blurts.

“I stopped taking it a few days ago,” she sighs. “Figured that if it looked bad you could bring me back to life, you couldn’t let me drink it if I was on vervain now, would you?”

“She could have —”

“But she didn’t,” she says. “And your dumb plan worked, so… do we go up and fuck like our life depended on it?” And then _something_ braver takes hold of her, and she pulls him closer, and whispers in his ear —

“You know, if you were very very good, I could let you drink from me for real.”

She hadn’t quite realized how _fast_ could vampires be until he grabbed her waist and literally ran his way up to the luxurious penthouse in question, bringing her with.

Now she does, and… she shouldn’t be _thrilled_ , maybe.

Fact is —

She _is_.

She goddamn _is_ , and there’s no point denying it anymore.

10.

“Oh,” she says, “you feel so _good_ , so fucking good —” She thrusts down on his dick, her hips going up and down as he fucks into her and his hands grab at her back, his mouth around one of her small, flat breasts, and he groans around it before trying to line up his rhythm with hers.

“Do I,” he blurts, and then she tugs at his hair and his pupils are blown and his face is stained in her come because he spent a goddamned half hour buried in it before, and he’s looking up at her like she’s the best thing he’s ever seen and like he doesn’t want her to let go of him, and —

“You just really _do_ ,” she says, sinking down on him again, “no one else has ever felt like you, _fuck_ , I —”

“No one’s ever — like you either, wench,” he sighs, and the way he’s saying it, almost as if it’s a title, it goes to her bones, in a way that should scare her, but instead she leans down to kiss him, her eyes staring down into his.

“Really,” she whispers, “centuries? And no one ever was?”

He shakes his head, moaning again as she goes back down on him _hard_ all over again.

“No,” he says, “just you, _just you_ , no one else ever felt this right, _fuck_ , no one else ever — _please_ , just —”

She cants his neck. “All right,” she says, “all right, but just — just because _I_ want you to.”

He nods, desperately, and then bites down on her neck and _fuck_ all of her blood rushes hot at once as he drinks some of it, but not as much as she had thought, it’s as if — as if he wants to do it because he wanted to and not because he _needed_ to feed or anything like that, and he’s sucking from the wound with _care_ , as if it’s some kind of goddamned honor to, and —

She screams, comes on his dick just as he thrusts inside her one last time and does, too, and she’s holding on to his hair as she says, _I think I get what you mean_ , and he blinks up at her and whispers _so, you’re_ my _wench now if I’m all yours_ , and —

She leans down, kisses him again.

It probably was a very bad idea. It will bite her in the ass sooner rather than later.

She can’t fucking _care less_.

From the way he’s looking up at her like she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him, she knows she most likely won’t care at all for a very long time, if she ever will.

\+ 1

“They fucked,” Bronn says at once.

“How do you even _know_ that,” Tyrion tries to protest, and then regrets having asked it in the first place when he sees his eyes _glint_ , and fuck, why did he think of even bringing it up?

“Are you serious? Look at them. She didn’t protest when he sat down next to her, she _touched his ass before_ while you were getting those drinks, he’s all giddy like she just rode him ten times in a row, how are they _not_ fucking? And good thing that, it was a long time coming.”

Fair enough, Tyrion thinks, looking at them as they _obviously_ flirt as they sit at the counter.

Well.

Good for them, he supposes. He had given up on Jaime actually, like, straightening his shit out one of these centuries.

“Hey,” Bronn says again, “your cunt of a sister is dead, isn’t she?”

“So they say,” Tyrion says in relief. “And I’m exceedingly glad of that.”

“You know that your brother gave me a copy of the keys of her Nola mansion saying that if we wanted to wreck the bed we were welcome to?”

 _What_.

“Did he now,” Tyrion asks.

“Sure,” Bronn says, “added that it was a bad that deserved christening from the two of you. I don’t know what the fuck’s up with your insane family, but if you’re offering me a weekend in Nola where we can fuck on a decent bed _in Jackson Square_ , I’d just like to know when you want to go, because I’d take advantage of that.”

Of _course_ Jaime thinks that it’s some kind of revenge.

Tyrion honestly was over Cersei a _long_ time ago. He has learned to take in stride the fact that he can’t exactly be a human again a long time ago as well, so — no point in holding on to grudges especially since he _hated_ her but she wasn’t worth his time, right?

But.

He can see the gesture for what it is.

Jaime _would_ think it was… some kind of sealing-the-deal thing on their newfound non-animosity.

Also, he hasn’t been in Nola for decades.

“You know what,” he says, “I think we should go right now. Nothing pressing to do over here now, do we?”

“You,” Bronn says, “are _absolutely_ my favorite cunt in existence.”

“What a romantic,” Tyrion says. “Should we say goodbye?”

“Nah,” Bronn shakes his head, “they wouldn’t even notice us. So, we going?”

Tyrion nods and leaves money for their drinks on the table.

He thinks he _really_ wants to stay in Nola for a very long time, especially if Jaime and Brienne end shacking up at the boarding house.

Hell, maybe they should make it _a month_ in Nola.

He really, _really_ thinks they should.

End.


End file.
